Weatherbound
by Morgane Lurker
Summary: During a trip in the name of murder investigation, Cooper and Truman get stuck in the snow. Self-fill for a prompt at the LJ comm damnfinekink, mild AU.


Summary: During a trip in the name of murder investigation, Cooper and Truman get stuck in the snow. AU after "Arbitrary Law", but nothing major.

Author's Notes: Self-fill for a prompt at the LJ comm damnfinekink. I found myself with unexpected spare time on my hands (cheers for cancelled courses!) and decided to sit down and write this. Started out as slash, but ended as silly friendship fluff instead.

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WEATHERBOUND

"Diane, I have never seen winter weather like this before. For the last four days the precipitation in Twin Peaks County has shifted between whirling snow, ground blizzards, sleet, needles and graupel. The snow banks on the roadside average two feet in height. However, the temperature of today is returning to a more bearable balm of 32 degrees. I and Sheriff Truman have wrapped up the interview with Ethel Shore in Oaks' Creek, and are now on our way back to town for a late lunch at the Double R Diner. Expect a copy of my report in a few days."

Dale thumbed off his recorder and looked out through the car window. For the first time in three weeks and after one hell of a snowstorm, the sun cracked through the cloud plaster and gilded the white fir tops. Underneath their snow cover, branches grey as graphite peeked out.

Mrs Shore's testimony was yet another lead in their investigation against One Eyed Jack's. Laura's killer may have been identified as far as the law enforcement of this world was concerned, but the thought of Leland Palmer's unfairly soiled memory left Dale no peace. The loose threads of the case had clung to his intuition. Tracing them, he'd quickly realized they branched into manifold mysteries. Who were the men listed in Laura's diary? Who provided One Eyed Jack's with new girls, Renault's couriers with drugs? What went on at the remnants of the Packard mill?

This woodwork was full of worms. And somewhere at its rotten core, Dale sensed they'd meet Laura's real killer again.

Then it felt good to have a man like Harry onboard. During his prolonged stay in Twin Peaks, Dale had come to appreciate the sheriff for more than his cooperation and competence. He proved honest, easy company. Despite his down-to-earth nature, he never ridiculed Dale's methods of investigation.

A sharp glint among the trees pulled Dale from his drifting thoughts; sunlight bounced at him through the wind shield. The curve ahead shone porcelain white where the wind had blown away snow.

"Looks like the gritter hasn't-"

The car jolted. Harry veered, tried to steer out of the skid, but like a willful dog the Ford Bronco pulled over the verge and into the ditch. The engine died with a cough.

"Speak of the devil," he sighed. "You alright, Coop?"

"I'm A-okay, sheriff." Dale eased the straining safety belt from his torso. "No physical injuries. And you?"

"The same I think. Hold on, I'm gonna try and back out of here."

After a few twists of the ignition key the engine chugged to life. Harry straightened the wheels, put the gear in reverse and feathered the gas. The Ford rolled back a few feet, then forward. Two more nudges to the pedal, before the car began to inch backwards. Dale prepared to get out and push, when the car suddenly jerked, lurched forward and plowed bumper-deep into the snow.

"Ice slick." Dale could not hear what else Harry muttered as he began toeing the gas pedal anew. But try as they might to rock the four-wheeler for a good ten minutes, it only dug deeper into the rut. The front wheels spun and churned snow without grasping a hint of traction; not even two floor mats wedged under them would do the trick. It seemed this time they were well and truly stuck.

"Looks like we're gonna need help getting out of this one." Harry reached for the radio.

Lucy responded on the third call. _"Sorry about the delay, I was putting Andy Jr. to sleep. The baby-minder's sick today, so I brought him to the station – Andy Jr, not the baby-minder, she's at home. I hope that's okay." _

"It is, Lucy. But right now I need you to call George Benton and tell him we're stuck in a ditch, about- um-"

"Eight minutes from Oaks Creek," Dale supplied.

"Eight minutes from Oaks Creek, did you catch that?" Lucy's response came back fuzzy with static, but affirmative. "Good. If he can get over here sometime today, it'd be mighty appreciated."

"_Okay._"

"Thanks, Lucy." Harry hung up the radio.

Since the steep forward tilt did not make for very comfortable sitting, they climbed out and onto the road verge. By now the car leaned into the ditch on a forty-five degree angle, its hood buried under snow.

"Do you keep shovels in the trunk?" Dale asked as they took in the scene.

"Two collapsibles, yeah."

"Then let's make ourselves useful while we wait."

"So, George Benton. The local tow truck man I presume?" Dale inquired as they dug their way through the white drifts along each side of the car.

"Among other things, yeah. Used to help Andy's dad out with work in the woods." Harry flung a shovel-ful into the woods. "Taught me how to drive a tractor when I was a kid. But it's a long time since he lay off farming and took up road service instead."

Dale listened intently as he shoveled. He liked hearing Harry talk about life in Twin Peaks. It reminded him of that good and peaceful moments existed even in this town - something the ordeal Laura could easily make you forget.

"Man, this is heavy." Harry paused to scoop up some snow. "Yup, wet snow. The town kids are probably making the most of it."

They kept shoveling for a few more minutes before he asked: "Ever been in a snowball fight, Coop?"

"It was never a major pastime in my childhood," Dale admitted, "though I managed a direct hit every now and then. In my prime I could knock the lid off a trash can from sixty feet away. But as with George's Benton's farming, that's a while since."

"I think I'd like to see that."

Dale looked up. "You want me to demonstrate?"

Harry nodded slowly. "If it's not too much trouble. I can try as well, for good measure."

Dale surveyed their result. The car was bared up to the front wheels, its headlights peeking out of the drifts.

"I suppose we could take a five minute-break." Putting the shovel aside, he stooped to squeeze some snow between his gloved palms. "Sheriff, would you be so kind to pick a target for me?"

"Sure." Harry's gaze strayed over the ditch-bank and further into the woods. "Okay. See that dead spruce with a crow's nest?"

Dale looked in the appointed direction. "I'm afraid I can't see the tree for the forest."

The sheriff squinted and leaned closer to follow his line of sight. "Over there, right next to that boulder. You see it?"

Gazing in the direction Harry pointed out, he spotted the tree. Fifty feet away, its branches bare and straight like the forks of a TV antenna. On the lowest sat a straggly bulk of twigs.

"Yes, I see it."

"All yours."

A warm spot lingered as Harry's hand lighted from his shoulder, air quickly rushing in over it. Focusing on his target, Dale shed all thoughts on everything but the unity of mind and hand. He leaned back and sent the snowball flying. It hit the bole with a soft 'poff'.

Harry gave a low whistle. "Not bad."

Pleased to discover he wasn't all that rusty, Dale reached down for more snow. "Wonder if I can hit that nest?"

"Pie and coffee says you can't."

Dale passed him a roguish look. "Bet accepted." Another thought besides that of the RR Diner's finest crossed his mind, and he nodded to the tree. "It's empty this time of year, right?"

"Sure. Crows won't be back till March."

"Well then." Dale weighed the snowball in his hand, let himself _feel_ the throw. He shifted his stance and hurled it off. For a second the ball seemed about to pass over the branch; then it hit the nest straight on, leaving a white spot among the black-brown twigs.

"Geez…" Harry breathed. "You sure it's been a while since?"

"I'm quite surprised myself." Dale nodded and turned to him. "Now, what about your aim?"

The sheriff tipped his hat towards their chosen target. "Can't compete with that."

"I'm afraid I have to disagree. Based on the trophies in your office, I think you can." Dale gave a firm nod.

"Well…" Harry huffed good-naturedly, and crouched to make a snowball. "I did promise to give it a try."

Dale observed his technique. As he'd assumed, it resembled a football player's. Left foot forward, shoulders pointed at the target, Harry wound his arm back and hurled off the icy projectile. It missed the bole by a hair.

"Bummer," he murmured, and got down to pack another fistful of snow together for a second try. This time, it flew in a high arch and smashed against the lowest branch so hard it swung like a pinjata.

Dale clapped his friend's back congratulatory. "Well Harry, ! think we both proved ourselves proficient at this skill." After a beat he added with a sly grin: "But it seems we're tied. I think we'll have to settle this with a good old-fashioned snowball fight after all."

Harry glanced at him. His eyes crinkled with amusement.

In next second they were flinging snowballs at each other, caught up in a boisterous fight. Snow spattered all around and left white flecks on their jackets. They threw and ducked and sidestepped, waged a positional war with wide grins on their faces. Dale was sure of aim, but Harry made up for any misses in evasive maneuvers. As the distance between them shrank, they fell into scooping snow straight at one another. Whooping and ducking, Dale took a quick step aside and jumped over the ditch. He landed in shin-high snow and plodded up a small mound. Harry trudged after him in hot pursuit, caught Dale round the waist right at the top.

"Gotcha!"

They tumbled over the edge and down the other side in a heap. Harry's hat fell off, Dale's left glove caught on a root; a low-hanging fir branch swept over them as they rolled past. They coasted to a halt in a grove, laughing and rubbing snow in each others' faces until they slumped in a breathless

Harry finally recovered enough to prop himself up. Snow stuck to his hair and jacket, and Dale concluded his own appearance must be very much in keeping with this. Despite their heavy panting, they broke out in matching grins.

"Guess this mean we're tied?"

"It would seem that way," Dale mused. "When we return to town, I think we'll have to depart from our earlier agreement, buy two cups of joe and split that pie down the middle."

Harry peered good-naturedly at him. "Sounds like a plan."


End file.
